


Goddess of War

by thestuffedalligator



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Iphigenia in Aulis - Euripides, The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drabble, Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-12-01 19:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestuffedalligator/pseuds/thestuffedalligator
Summary: They call on the spirit of war. They get her.But the true face of war is not brave. It's in tears.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting from my Tumblr account because I accidentally turned this into a multi-chapter thing

Olive skin, black hair, skinny, dirty face with pale lines where tears had sliced through the ash and dust. A white chiton dress and a threadbare shawl draped over her shoulders.

A pair of wings - huge, black vulture wings, far too large on her tiny body - were the only things that suggested she was divine.

The general shifted his weight from foot to foot. Obviously respect had to be given to gods, but… “Er - I’m sorry, I was invoking Ares? The god of war?”

The child god shrunk in on herself, and pulled the shawl over her shoulders. She muttered something. “Sorry?” the general asked.

“Ares is the god of slaughter,” the child god said in a slightly louder voice. “Not war.”

The general looked at the priest. The priest shrugged, clearly lost at sea. “Well,” the general said, “then maybe Athena? Goddess of tactics in war?”

“Tactics,” the child god repeated. “Not war.”

There was a long, ugly silence, as the huge vulture wings shifted with the whisper of brushing feathers. “My name is - _was_ \- Iphigenia. Daughter of Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, commander of the Greeks who stormed the walls of Troy. When my father disgraced Artemis, and the winds of Greece would not blow her battleships to Troy, I was brought to Aulis. For my wedding, I was told. I was-”

She sobbed. Teardrops dribbled off her chin and fell to the temple floor. “I was fourteen. And then I was brought to the highest altar in Aulis, and - and then - and-”

Another sob. “I was _fourteen_,” she said.

The vulture wings draped over her, and she disappeared under the cloak of black feathers. When they parted, and when the child god looked up at the general, he fell backwards. Those eyes. Eyes he’d seen a thousand times in battle -

“I am the true spirit of war, general,” the child god said. “I am the goddess of bloodshed, of sacrifice, of the slaughter of innocents. I am invoked when men ravage, burn and pillage. I am invoked when mothers cry out, when sons die, when daughters are stolen. I hear it _all_, general. I have heard it all since the fall of Troy.”

The terrible wings opened up. The child god loomed over the fallen man, twenty, thirty feet tall. Somewhere, the priest was screaming. “_How dare you call upon my name_.”


	2. Chapter 2

It had been an unusual case when it was first brought up to her. But she’d been a counselor for a good decade now, and people said she worked wonders with teenagers.

And all things considered, the last few sessions had actually been going very well. Over the last couple meetings, Iphigenia had even managed to break down her problems into smaller terms than the sheer cosmic horror of divinity.

“When people say, ‘God, please help me,’ _I’m_ the one who responds,” Iphigenia said. The huge vulture wings readjusted themselves. “And - and I can’t _do _anything about it. I make the pain go away, but that’s all I can do. That’s not what they want. That’s _never _what they want.

“I’ve seen t-terrible things. And I want to be the goddess who can stop those things.” She looked down at her hands where they clenched at the end of her chiton. “But there’s just too much. I can’t - I can’t be the one who does it. I’m - I can’t - I’m not-”

Iphigenia sobbed, flung herself forward, and wrapped her arms around her therapist.

The mortal held her close as the goddess cried. She closed her eyes. Every act of cruelty since the fall of Troy… It was too terrible to imagine. Did she know about her father? Her mother?

She shook her head. It was still too early to go down that road.

“Let me ask you this,” she said. “Do you think it would be better if you _weren’t_ there to take the pain away?”

Iphigenia sniffled into her sweater. Then in a very soft voice she said, “No.”

“Do you make the pain go away when you’re summoned?”

Another pause. “Every time,” she whispered.

She nodded. “Iphigenia - what happened to you was awful.”

The goddess choked and howled with sorrow. She wondered if this had been the first time she’d been told that. “I know. I know,” she said, even though she knew she couldn’t. “I’m so sorry.”

She rubbed circles with her palm on the bit of back between the goddess’s wings. “But the fact you’re there,” she said, “the fact you’re _always _there - the fact that you _always _help, in whatever way you can - god, I can’t even imagine how you do it. You’re so strong in ways you don’t understand, Iphigenia. I’m so proud of you.”

They held each other for a while as the goddess shook with tears.

They parted. Iphigenia’s breath shook with every inhale, each one a sob desperately contained. “Th-th-thank you,” she said.

The therapist realized there were tears running down her cheeks as well. She smiled in spite of them. “Any time, dear.” She glanced up at the clock. “Is there anything else you can think of tonight?”

The goddess shook her head and pulled a couple tissues from the box on the table. “No. Thank you, I needed this.”

“Of course.” She snagged a couple tissues for herself and blew her nose. “Our time’s up, but I do have some homework for you. While you’re out this week and you’re summoned, learn about the person who summoned you, if you can. Next week, just tell me about them. Their name, where they’re from, anything at all. I’ll have an exercise ready for you then.”

Iphigenia nodded, stood up, and bowed. “I will. Thank you again.” The huge wings opened, there was a sound like thunder, and the therapist was alone in her office again.

She pulled off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. When she put her glasses back on again, her gaze fell on the Book of Summoning left on the table.

She stared at it. It had been left open at Iphigenia’s entry. She reached over, flipped a few chapters back, and looked at the entry for Zeus.

Maybe it was time to have a very serious _chat_ with the boss.


End file.
